


Hearts in atrophy

by ANTchan



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cassian makes painful choices, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Injury Recovery, K-2SO does not approve, M/M, Memory Loss, POV Multiple, Past Drug Use, Pining, Recovery, Team as Family, background Chirrut Imwe/Baze Malbus - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-01-06 16:41:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12214725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ANTchan/pseuds/ANTchan
Summary: After his torture at the hands of Saw Gerrera and Bor Gullet, Bodhi finds remembering difficult. Memories are like the Jedhan sands through his fingers. He forgets places he'd been, people he'd loved, things that he enjoyed before his defection.He forgets Joreth Sward.-------------Cassian’s heart drops into his feet. The face on the other side of the bars is one he’s forced himself not to think about - one of too many. But this one, this one is different. More.‘It wasn’t supposed to be you.’But aloud he says: “Bodhi?”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> After binging too many fics, here I come with one of my own! This first chapter was originally supposed to run up all the way through the course of the movie, but I hit nearly 4k and I'm only halfway through the scenes I had planned for the course of the movie. Whoops. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy my little attempt at this ship! Comment moderation is on, as that's my personal policy. (But I let them through pretty quickly, so don't be shy!) Or you can come over to [my tumblr](http://anamelesstraveler.tumblr.com/) and come scream about Rogue One with me. I'm always up for that.

 

 _Something isn't right, babe_  
_I keep catching little words but the meaning's thin_  
_I'm somewhere outside my life, babe_ _  
_ I keep scratching but somehow I can't get in

  
\--------------------1---------------------

Being tossed into a Partisan cell had not been part of the plan, but Cassian can work with that. Jyn is missing - either talking to Saw Gerrera or being _tortured_ by his soldiers. Kay’s failed to check in with him upon returning to the ship. And Cassian is locked in a cell with two bickering Jedi era castoffs--

But he can _work_ with that.

The Partisans are immersed in their game across the room, or spread out watching the holovids, giving Cassian more than a few minutes to feel around the door panel, stealthily loosening the seams and mentally mapping out the internal mechanics. Cassian can have the door open in no more than a few well placed pulls, with the proper diversion. He has at least four ideas for that already; two of which include the charges hidden along his belt and in the seams of his coat.

“Who’s the one in the next cell?” Chirrut’s voice shatters his focus for the third time since they’d been thrown this cell. Cassian barely spares him a glance and tunes out Baze’s responding question. This, at least, is better than the bickering. (The _bickering_ had lasted for most of the first hour, and by the end of it Cassian had been sure it was more for entertainment than an actual argument.)

But Cassian can’t ignore Baze’s snarl of, “An Imperial pilot!”

His head whips up, all semblance of stealth forgotten at the menace in the older man’s voice. “What?”

Baze is already lunging towards the bars. “I’ll _kill_ him.”

Cassian is on his feet before his mind finishes processing the situation. “Stop!” he orders. He follows Baze across their cell, is able to grasp his arm before he can reach through and throttle the figure slumped against the bars on the other side. Cassian doesn’t hear his own words, fast and hissed under his breath. His carefully laid plans have been thrown into chaos in only a few short seconds. _The pilot is still here._ If they can extract the pilot, they may not need Saw Gerrera at all. “We need him!” Cassian growls, shoving insistently at Baze until he can insinuate himself between the larger man and the bars. “We came for him. We need him.”

The rage still sparks in his dark eyes, but Baze relents. He casts one last murderous glare at the shape on in the other cell before stomping back to Chirrut’s side. Cassian understands the bitter hatred towards the Imperials - the righteous fury of the occupied. He understands the itch against the trigger whenever one is in sight. Cassian understands better than he likes to consider. But if this is the defector, then they need him.

The Rebellion had never even hoped that the pilot would still be alive after being in Saw’s hands for any length of time. Saw Gerrera isn’t and has never been the type to take prisoners if he can help it. Cassian peers down at the heap. “Hey,” he calls. “Are you the pilot?”

The figure doesn’t move.

Cassian swallows back a curse, and kneels down closer. The pilot sits in the shadows of the next cell, unmoving but for the tiniest twitch of his chest. Silent but for the slightest rasp of breath. With each passing second, the dread only grows worse.

The pilot is broken. Death might have been preferable to whatever Saw put the man through.

Cassian calls to the other prisoner again. This time the man stirs, his entire body trembles and he twitches a little further out of the shadows. Cassian can better make out the shape of shoulders and jawline. The hint of a profile - of dark hair matted with dirt and sweat, the gentle curve of his nose.

And Cassian’s heart drops into his feet. The face on the other side of the bars is one he’s forced himself not to think about - one of too many. But _this one,_ this one is different. _More_.

_‘It wasn’t supposed to be you.’_

But aloud he says: “Bodhi?”

\--------------------2---------------------

Nothing and everything exist all at once. Bodhi has existed in nothing and everything for… how long? Time meant nothing to him. Shreds of memories swirl by him, flicking flames - one moment there and gone the next. They are splinters of glass that sting and crumble into cutting slivers if he reaches for them; if he tries to hold them immobile for too long.

But still Bodhi tries. He holds them so carefully in his mind, even though the pain makes spots dance before his eyes, even though it makes the floating, cast adrift feeling worse. He tries to put the memories back together. In some kind of order or function. But all Bodhi can think is that he’s going to come out wrong if he doesn’t put the memories back together right. That everything that makes _him_ is going to come out jagged and distorted.

“Bodhi?”

Yes, that’s his name. Bodhi. There’s a Bodhi here, holding his mother’s hand as they walk through crowded streets. The tide rushes by, people moving faster, pushing. This way and that. Running from something - or to it? This Bodhi is small and can’t see past the sea of bodies. All he can do is curl into his mother’s side and hold on.

“Bodhi, can you look at me?”

A fragment of another Bodhi sitting around a table with other recruits in their Imperial white-and-grays. They laugh and joke and uncoil from the gruelling day of classes and simulations and drills. He smiles, and doesn’t think about how they will all become the same people that invaded his home. He can’t think about that. Because without friends Bodhi will not _survive this_ and the Empire knows it.

Are they the same Bodhi? He can’t tell anymore. He can’t see where the child becomes the Imperial. They are two different lifetimes inhabiting one person.

“Ensign Rook. Are you the pilot?”

“I’m… I’m the pilot.”

“Yes. Yes, good, good. Bodhi, do you have the message?”

“The…” This is important to him. Bodhi knows, oh, he _knows_ that, but his mind can’t draw the memory up. He sifts through the shards, the broken memories stabbing like a thousand knives. The message.

The message! _Galen’s_ message. Galen who had looked at him with hope and despair and said, _“You can do this. You’re so much braver than I ever was, Bodhi. I would trust no one else.”_

Had Galen known? Had Galen known what Saw Gerrera would do to him - had he lied and sent Bodhi into the monster’s den?

“I brought the message from Galen. From Eadu.” The world comes back to him in increments. The pain becomes sharper. Not just in his head. Throat parched and chest sore (from what - from screaming for help? For someone to listen?) Limbs stiff and bruised from being dragged by his captors. From the manhandling and from sitting motionless in the dirt. Bodhi turns suddenly, his limbs disjointed - a battered marionette flashes before his mind, from one of the festival shows, tumbling into a heap as the wires are go slack. He grasps the metal bars with all the strength he has left; stares into the dark eyes on the other side. “I brought it. The message. I _defected_ \-- you have to. You have to get the message. For Jyn.”

“Jyn?” The eyes are attached to a thin, sculpted face. Sharp cheekbones. A slightly crooked, bold nose. A mouth that curls around the name.

“Yes. _Jyn._ Need to… it’s for her.”

“For Jyn. Not for Saw Gerrera?”

“For the Rebellion. For Jyn.” Bodhi isn’t sure if it’s just him or the world around him that trembles with the his words. “You have to tell them!” His voice cracks dangerously. He breathes in dust that makes his aching lungs spasm and his world sways. The whole room sways - definitely shaking, not just in his head.

“Yes, I’ve got it,” the man on the other side says, hurried but gentle. “Stay there. We’re getting out.”

Bodhi slumps against the bars, the strength seeping out of him. He’s done it. He’s delivered the message. Galen’s message. He’d braved defection and extremist guerrilla fighters and that _thing_. He can… he can rest, now, right?

There’s a commotion outside his cell, a low, slowly growing rumble and the sound of people running. Bodhi can hear things skittering off of tables and out of their precious nooks, shattering on the floor. Chaos. Can’t he just rest - for even a moment?

“Ha, yes. Yes! You see, the door!” a laughing voice rises above the din. “You just have to to have faith--”

“Just _go!_ ” says another in a rough snarl. It’s the second voice that jars Bodhi out of his daze once more. Because after what only seems like a moment later, he hears it again. Closer. “Pilot.” Bodhi lifts his heavy, aching head.

Not to see a person, but the barrel of a repeater cannon.

“No, no please--” He’s too tired to scramble to safety. The bolt nearly deafens him. But the pain doesn’t come.

Instead the door sparks and slides open. The towering form on the other side reaches down and grabs Bodhi by the arm, hauling him to his feet. Pain flares up his shoulder, a sound like a wounded animal wrenching past his lips. The grip on his arm, the looming man with wild hair and a harsh face, eases for only a moment. “Go,” the man commands. “Before I reconsider just shooting you, Imperial.”

Bodhi is shoved forward, though with less force than when he’d been pulled from the dirt. The other man - Bodhi’s height, slimmer than his partner, neat, short hair, too pale eyes - steadies him with a hand at his elbow. Bodhi knows he’s led through crowded tunnels that quake around them, crumbling as they pass by open corridors, but the journey is a blur. He stumbles after his rescuers, listening to the chaos around them and the almost gentle buzzing of the device hooked to the blind man’s sash as they pick their way through the tunnels. Bodhi is bumped and jostled as people run past, and finds himself not in a collapsing catacomb--

\-- _but in the streets of Jedha once more. It is not the blind man tapping at the path in front of him holding his arm, but his mother. And Bodhi is small again; clutching her hand even though her grip hurts. It hurts, but the thought of being lost in the crowd is more terrifying than the pain, so Bodhi huddles close. It’s festival time in NiJedha, and the grand thoroughfares are packed with locals and pilgrims alike. The city’s Holy Quarter will be lit up like a city of a thousand stars in the night. Bodhi is only six, but he’s already been instilled with a sense of pride in his city. There is nowhere in the galaxy more beautiful than NiJedha during festival time_ \--

The memories flickers back out of existence. Bodhi’s standing with the cold Jedhan sun on his skin, but it’s being rapidly eclipsed by a torrent of rock and ash that was once the only bright spot of Bodhi’s life.

NiJedha is gone.

Bodhi’s delivered his message. Too little, too late.

 

\--------------------3---------------------

 

“He looks different.”

Cassian snaps out of his daze, turning away from the communications array with a sharp: “ _Don’t._ ” He casts a hasty glance into the cabin, fearing someone heard them. The area beyond the cockpit is silent, however. Silent and still, despite the four downtrodden occupants. The rush of hyperspace and everyone’s own thoughts seem to cover Kaytoo’s words well enough.

From the pilot’s seat, Kay continues, unrepentant. “It has been a few years. Perhaps his hair is longer. Or perhaps it’s the torture.”

“Kay!” Cassian hisses.

“What?” Kaytoo swivels his head around. Cassian knows better than to think he’s taking his attention away from the controls. What looks like a narrowing of the droid’s eyes to an organic is actually Kay focusing his scanners. “You are distressed.”

Cassian’s mouth twitches, a barely aborted grimace. There are too many answers to that. “I’m fine, Kay.”

“Given previous data, there’s a 83.9% probability that you are lying.”

 _‘Only 83.9%?’_ he thinks, but refrains from saying.

“Is he angry with us? Is that why you are distressed?” Kaytoo asks. His eyes don’t stray from Cassian as he speaks, he doesn’t glance into the cabin or otherwise gesture to indicate to man in question-- the defector-- Bodhi. The defector is _Bodhi._

Cassian thinks again of the pilot’s frantic expression back in that cell; the glittering, feverish eyes. The complete lack of any recognition whatsoever. A chill runs down his spine all over again. “He… didn’t recognize me,” he admits at length.

The droid has no eyebrows to raise, but by the uptick in his vocabulator, they would be if Kay had any. “He didn't? That is improbable, given--”

“ _Kay…_ ”

“The amount of copulation--”

Cassian resists throwing the nearest available object at his partner. But only barely. “ _Quiet_ , Kay.”

“Would you rather I call it filthy organic _relations_ , then? Or fucking? I believe that’s the colloquialism in Basic, isn’t it?”

He glares, rather than answer. Not that it intimidates Kay any. He pulls himself from his seat. “Just… listen for an answer from the general.”

“Of course.”

The cabin is oppressively silent as he enters. No one looks up, though Cassian doesn’t expect them to. Jyn remains crumpled in the chair at the center of the cabin, seemingly unmoved since Cassian had shoved her into it on Jedha. She stares resolutely at the hands dangling between her knees. What her thoughts are, he can’t even begin or want to guess. (It’s trouble either way. _She’s_ going to be trouble whatever her thoughts. She’s likely going to be his _death_ soon enough. Cassian knows this, and yet the notion of leaving her behind on Jedha had been so repulsive that in that moment it had been unthinkable.)

The Guardians are easier to read. While their faces are impassive, Baze gazing at the bulkhead across the shuttle and Chirrut with his eyes closed in silent focus, the air of grief that hangs around them is impossible to miss. It’s something so profound that it needs no words.

Jedha is _gone_. A whole city obliterated in a flash of light and fire. Possibly the entire moon itself. Cassian had been too consumed with getting them out alive to stop to wonder. Had the entire moon broken apart in the wake of the Death Star’s attack? Or had they left behind the smoking wound that would eventually turn the moon rotten, devoid of life? Either answer is… horrifying.

There’s a tiny, treacherous thought at the back of Cassian’s mind, wondering in insidious whispers if they’re to blame for the attack. If they had been smarter, had stayed out of line of fire, if they could have avoided the Empire’s heavy handed response.

He’s not sure if that thought is more or less painful than looking at Bodhi right now. The pilot, like the rest of them, hasn’t moved since sinking into a seat near the wall. But he’s far from motionless. He sits staring at his restless fidgeting hands, lips moving around words that Cassian can’t hear. His expression is twisted in such guilt and pain and _loss,_ incapable of hiding anything. Not for the first time, Cassian questions how such a man could survive under the Empire.

But that’s the answer, then: he can’t.

 _“I defected!”_ Bodhi had cried desperately from behind the unforgiving metal bars.

_“I hate them.” A fervent confession in the dark. Bodhi tenses the moment the words leave his mouth. Even as close as they are, curled together in the too-small bunk of Bodhi’s shuttle, it’s too dark to see more than the flash of fear that goes through his eyes. The barest hint of a grimace around his mouth._

_Cassian Andor, Intelligence Operative of the Rebel Alliance - Cassian Jeron Andor, formerly of Fest - would have seized upon those words. His heart would leap. He would have to swallow back the hope, the truly worrying rush of affection, and the desire to convince Ensign Bodhi Rook, Imperial Cargo Pilot, formerly of Jedha, to take that final leap and follow him away from this hell._

_But he has not been Cassian Andor for several months._

_Joreth Sward, Imperial Officer and assistant to Admiral Grendeef, only gestures at their naked, entwined forms. “No uniforms,” he reminds the pilot gently. And even Joreth Sward has to smother the twinge of guilt as Bodhi’s shoulders slump in relief. Because here Bodhi thinks they are just Bodhi Rook and Joreth Sward. That’s the agreement between them: when the uniforms come off, the Empire gets left at the door._

_“I_ **_hate_ ** _them,” Bodhi repeats._

_But even this promise is a lie--_

Cassian shakes himself from the memory, ignoring the sick turning of his stomach. In the few moments the memory has stolen his focus, Chirrut has risen to his feet. His staff taps quietly against the seats as he moves across the cabin and sinks into the one across from Bodhi. The pilot doesn’t appear to notice.

“Are you with us, my young friend?” Chirrut speaks softly. “You seem far away.”

Bodhi twitches, his eyes locked on his hands. He’s trembling, now that Cassian looks closer. Something in his chest squeezes painfully, and he ruthlessly shoves it back into the farthest corner of his memory - where it should have stayed forever.

Chirrut frowns, and leans closer on his staff. “Can you tell me your name?”

“B-Bodhi…” Bodhi’s throat works. “Bodhi Rook.”

“Alright. Bodhi. You are on a shuttle. We are in hyperspace, by the sound of it.” Chirrut’s voice is even and soothing. “It is 35:1:24 by the standard calendar. It is… the third day of the Month of Red Skies on Jedha.” The calm mask cracks for only an instant, an expression of such sorrow passing over the Guardian’s face. But he does not correct his slip. “You are safe, Bodhi Rook. You are here.”

“I’m… I’m here.” The dark-haired pilot takes a shaking breath. “I’m here.”

“Yes. You are here.” He cocks his head, seeming to listen to the other man breathe for a moment. What he’s actually sensing, Cassian doesn’t know. Especially when his smile turns solemn. “You’re from Jedha?”

“Yes,” Bodhi answers mournfully.

“Would you like to recite the Chant with me?”

Bodhi’s expression wilts even further, if such a thing were possible. “I-I don’t…” His hands begin to fidget again, with a distinctly distressed tremble.

Cassian edges closer, feeling even more like an intruder with ever half-step. “Bodhi,” he interrupts, keeping his voice low and neutral. Bodhi startles, his head whipping up and his gaze darting before focusing on Cassian. The flash of fear is enough to make Cassian regret it. Again there is not a trace of recognition there. Cassian may as well be a stranger to him - a stranger that Bodhi isn’t sure won’t hurt him. That is… no. Cassian cannot let himself think about that past observation. If he does, he’s likely to go insane with guilt and grief. “We may be heading to Eadu next,” he explains. “Are you well enough to help us get there? To Galen’s lab?”

 _‘How can you not know that it’s me?’_ He curses himself even as the thought plays over and over again in his head. There are more important things at stake.

“I… I think I can.” The pilot clears his throat and lowers his eyes shamefully. “Not everything is… it’s… _fuzzy_ right now. A lot of things are.” He lifts a hand, motioning at his temple. “I-It’s hard to remember. But I’ll try.” He draws himself up, a burst of determination smoothing out his nervous expression. “Yeah. I’m sure I can.”

“Of… of course,” Cassian manages to agree. His mind is preoccupied, playing Bodhi’s words over and over again. “I’ll let you know when we’re coming up on Eadu.”

“Thank you, um…”

“Cassian,” he supplies, feeling horribly off balance like he hasn’t felt in _years_. “Cassian Andor.”

_‘He doesn’t remember.’_

“Cassian,” Bodhi repeats. “Thank you. For um, for getting me out of there.” And _damnit,_ it should not feel like something sharp is being stabbed between his ribs at only a word.

It’s the first time Bodhi has ever said his name. _His_ name. A few years ago, that was a wild, unattainable dream.

Now it’s a nightmare.

“You don’t need to thank me,” he mutters, before taking his leave.

As he heads back into the cockpit, Cassian hears Bodhi take a steadying breath and turn to Chirrut with renewed strength. “Can you help me with the Chant? I might remember it if I go through it with you.”

Kaytoo watches him slide into the pilot’s seat, his silence expectant. Cassian knows better than to wonder if the droid had been listening. “Any response from headquarters?”

“Yes. We are to continue with the mission as ordered.”

“Understood,” Cassian grunts, feeling like the ice of Fest’s coldest winters has slid into his belly. It’s not the cold focus or even the anxiety that he usually experiences at the crest of a mission. No, this is dread. It’s the same icy knowing as when he found himself staring down at Tivik as the man gasped out his last breath.

It’s the knowledge that this mission is going to change him forever. _Damn him_ forever.

“You didn’t tell him,” Kaytoo says, pitching his vocabulator low.

“We’re not going to tell him, Kay.”

“We’re not?” Kaytoo glances out the viewport and back, a gesture that is all personality and little function. “And what if he asks? You want me to lie to him?”

Cassian winces. The memory of the droid (poorly, _horrendously_ ) attempting to lie his way past the stormtroopers is still fresh in his mind. As is the bruise blooming on his cheek. “You’re an awful spy. How did that happen? I programmed you to be a spy.”

“You programmed me to be your intimidation, _Captain._ To be your muscle and statistical support. I am not meant for intricate subterfuge. _That_ is your expertise. Why are we not telling him?”

“It’s not important now.”

“I’d expect it would be very important to him, actually.”

What would it matter? In a few hours they will either all be dead or Jyn will _kill Cassian_ when he completes his mission. There will be no time to tell Bodhi anything, much less the time he will need to explain what happened… in a way that Bodhi will not hate him.

Kaytoo seems to read his silence well enough. “This is an inadvisable course of action. A stupid plan.”

“Noted.”

 

\-----------------------------------------

**END CHAPTER 1.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eadu is a miserable, sodden planet. It’s not until the U-Wing dips into the atmosphere that Bodhi remembers the days spent soaked to the skin and hiding in any available shelter when he could get away with it. And he remembers, with distinct clarity, how much he hates Eadu.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The canon Rogue One material ends with chapter 2, I said. It's only going to be a few short scenes, I said.
> 
> So, what was originally this chapter had to be split into two. Whoops. 
> 
> Regardless, I just want to thank all of you for all the wonderful feedback and love you've shown this fic. You've all been so kind to this fandom newcomer! As always, if you ever wanna know how this fic is going, or want to rant at me about something from the fic, you can always find me at [my tumblr](http://anamelesstraveler.tumblr.com/).
> 
> There's a new tag being added from here on out, for referencing past drug abuse. I don't think it's at all out of the question that the Empire got their pilots and soldiers hooked on "supplements" and the like. And while this fic only references that, I just wanted to tag for it in case. There's also a tiny, minuscule not-really OC this chapter. We watched Dead Set and I just HAD to bring Space over for a small role. Anyway- 
> 
> Happy reading!

 

 ****\--------------------1---------------------

 

Eadu is a miserable, sodden planet. It’s not until the U-Wing dips into the atmosphere that Bodhi remembers the days spent soaked to the skin and hiding in any available shelter when he could get away with it. And he remembers, with distinct clarity, how much he hates Eadu.

_When the rains came on Jedha, it came upon them in chilly summer monsoons that brought festivals and celebration in their wake. Bodhi knows what rain feels like on his skin, but that doesn’t prepare him for the leeching cold and the damp that comes with Eadu. Even in the warmest seasons on the mildest days, the planet only manages an overcast light with a short midday storm. The damp seeps into everything. Nothing on Eadu ever stays completely dry. The squeaking of boots down barely dried corridors still sears into Bodhi’s brain--_

An icy drip slides from Bodhi’s hat down the back of his neck, jolting him from the spark of memory. Pain flares, both as his body tightens in a full-body flinch, and as the rain seeps into the raw wounds around his throat. (What was it that had caused them? Had it been from the constant manhandling, his captors dragging him about by the throat and the back of his flight suit? Or had it been from slick, grasping tentacles clenching around his throat as that _thing_ ripped apart his sanity?)

Bodhi shakes the cobwebs free of his mind. _‘Eadu,’_ he reminds himself. _‘Right. Eadu.’_ They’d crashed the U-Wing against the canyon coming in, and tensions have been running high. Which is why he did his best not to take it personally when Cassian snapped at him to come show him the path up to the lab facility.

The same way he tries not to take it personally when Jyn would rather gaze silently at the bulkhead than talk to him about Galen. The same way he doesn’t blame Baze for growling at him for failing to deliver his message in time. (He’s right, after all. _He’s right._ )

“Bodhi?”

Shit, why can’t he stop getting _lost_ in his own head? “Yes,” he gasps loudly, fighting to be heard over the storm around them. “S-Sorry. The lab is just over the ridge.” He gestures towards it, where the faint light can be seen over the cliff. He pauses to study the towering walls of the canyon. “Ah. There should be a way up. These cliffs have paths eroded in them from all the storms. Should. I uh, you know, I used to hear from the foot patrols. I’ve never been out here. I’d just fly over it, you know?” Bodhi has to clench his jaw to keep from rambling on mindlessly.

Cassian merely watches him, however. “Sure,” he says. “Lead the way.”

“Y-Yeah. This way.” He ignores the way his body protests climbing up onto the rocks. Ignores the way his aching, blistered hands scream. The climb towards the top of the ridge would not be difficult on any planet other than Eadu. There are convenient slopes and footholds, left by countless years of harsh erosion. But on Eadu, being battered by the wind and rain, Bodhi has to cling to the rocks at every step. His boots slip on the path, his fingers fight for purchase the whole way up. All of this, he can push himself to ignore. It’s easier when he can let the words - words about Galen, words about Eadu, any words his struggling memory can string together  - tumble from his mouth.

What he can’t ignore is the way Cassian’s eyes are trained on his back the whole way up. By the time they reach the top of the first ridge, the stare is nearly tangible. It’s not entirely the icy rain that sends a chill down Bodhi’s spine. He forces himself to stand a little straighter, forces himself to swallow back the bubble of nervousness rising in his throat. Whenever the Rebel spy looks his way, his gaze is always _heavy._ Is he waiting for Bodhi to crack? Can Cassian see the way he fights to keep his legs from buckling underneath him, or his fight to stay grounded in the present?

Or is the spy waiting for Bodhi to turn on them? Is he waiting for the moment when Bodhi will waver to put him down? The thought sends well worn fear through him. If Bodhi were still with the Empire, the slightest hint of dissent would see him executed for treason. But Cassian is _not_ the Empire, and he would not be so heartless, surely?

No, no, he _saved_ Bodhi. Cassian wouldn’t turn around and discard him as easily as that. Right?

Cassian’s voice jolts him out of his spiralling thoughts. “How long did Saw Gerrera’s people hold you?” he calls over the storm.

It’s not the question Bodhi expects to be asked.  “What? I-I don’t…” He licks his lips, and tastes only Eadu’s slightly metallic rain. For a moment, it tastes like blood. “A… A few days, maybe?” His eyes remain glued to the rocks above them.

Cassian’s laugh startles him. It’s a short, guttural thing, sharp and bitter. And as Bodhi turns to look at him, he wonders what could happen in someone’s life that would make even a laugh sound so hollow. “What? What’s funny?” Bodhi asks.

Cassian shakes his head, sending water dripping down his face. His hair is plastered to to his forehead because he, for some reason, refused to put the hood of his (equally impractical in this weather) parka up. “Nothing.” And then his voice softens, so much that Bodhi leans a little closer to hear him over the howling wind. “Must’ve been a hell of a few days. But you survived it.”

 _“You’re here. You’re with me,”_ echoes in Bodhi’s head. Not in Chirrut’s voice this time. But in Cassian’s, in the same tone the man had used to call to him back on Jedha. It’s nice to imagine, Bodhi finds. It’s soothing.

Bodhi fumbles for a response. “Yes, well. I did. I guess.” He reaches up, for his goggles at first, and then remembers he’d left them on the U-Wing and fidgets with his hat instead. “If you want a vantage point, we’ll have to go farther up. This way!”

The higher they climb, the more dangerous it becomes. The rain only seems to get stronger. The path only slicker and more narrow. And the higher they go, the more Bodhi’s legs shake with the strain. His knees start to buckle as the path narrows into barely a foot’s width, threatening to send Bodhi careening into the canyon below. He doesn’t even have time to yelp before a hand is shoving him back against the rock face, clenched in the front of his shirt. It remains there until he regains his footing, only letting go when Bodhi turns and gasps out a half-terrified, “Thanks.”

Cassian nods. His expression is still calm, as if he hasn’t just saved Bodhi from falling to his death, only betrayed by the intense glimmer in his eyes. He seems to sense that Bodhi can’t quite make himself move. That he’s still pressing back against the rocks in paralyzing fear. “I’ll be right behind you,” Cassian reassures.

Bodhi’s fractured mind focuses on the hand pressed against his chest and the voice close to his ear for longer than is necessary. His body feels the phantom aftershocks of it even as they reach the top of the outcropping, and kneel in the dirt.

He barely manages to shake himself free in order to point the dark shape of Galen out to the spy.

It’s the roar of the shuttle and being suddenly pushed into the mud that finally, truly pulls Bodhi back to the present. He comes up sputtering, struggling to wipe the rain and the muck from his face. Cassian’s arm stays flung across his back for a lingering moment, and then the other man is shifting into action, bringing his rifle up and staring down the scope at the commotion on the platform. “That another cargo shuttle?” he asks. “Do they have the scientists come out to meet them?”

“No,” Bodhi answers uncertainly. And then, firmer: “No. The lab has ridiculous security protocols. The scientists never come out to meet a shipment. And that’s not a cargo shuttle.” He eyes the black and gunmetal-gray shuttle descending upon the landing pad, bathing the storm-battered platform in roving floodlights. “Delta-class T-3c. They’re rare. Stealth and deep space communication capabilities. It’s a special forces transport.” The words come easy to him, a relief. At least _this_ part of him has remained whole and unblemished.

“Then who’s on the ship?”

Bodhi brings the quadnocs back up. Black suited troopers are descending the ramp now. Death troopers. “Someone important,” he whispers in mounting dread.

“Who, Bodhi?” Cassian turns to watch him intently. When Bodhi can’t come up with a response, his coaxing tone gives way to urgency. “I need to know who’s down there.”

“I don’t remember!” Bodhi hisses back. He casts about for anything in the shattered mess that his memory has become, but nothing rises to the surface. This is important - he should _know_ this.

(He should know a lot of things. But it’s all missing now - unexpected tears in his memory. Words on the tip of his tongue that just won’t form.)

A white-hot pain lances through him, like the memory is trying to crack through his skull to get out. Momentarily, Bodhi feels sick.

“ _Bodhi!_ ”

“I can’t. I’m sorry, I can’t.” He clenches his teeth to ward off the ache, seeing spots before his eyes until it fades.

“ _Mierda, ¿qué te hicieron?_ ” Cassian’s mutter is barely audible, but his tone is brittle. Just as well, since Bodhi isn’t sure he wants to know whatever judgment of Bodhi’s uselessness the man has just uttered. Cassian takes a breath, and then gestures back the way they came. “Get back down to the shuttle. You and Kay need to find us a way out of here.”

Bodhi peers over at him, unsure if he’s heard that right through the throbbing pain in his head. “What? But what about you?”

“I’m staying here. You need to go or we won’t have a way out.” Cassian brings his rifle back up, studying the platform through the scope. His next order comes out harder. “ _Go._ ”

Something cold turns over in Bodhi’s chest.

Bodhi isn’t naive. A life of Imperial occupation and then in the belly of the Imperial beast itself doesn’t allow for _naive._

“You said we were just coming up to have a look,” he says, voice dimming.

Cassian doesn’t look at him. The silence hangs between them, pulled taut to the breaking point. Bodhi is aware of every drip of rain down Cassian’s suddenly steely expression. Aware of just how pointedly Cassian refuses to acknowledge him.

The pilot clenches his fists, broken nails digging into his palms. “Jyn said the mission as to _extract_ Galen.” He waits for Cassian to turn to him. He waits, he silently _dares_ Cassian to lie to him.

He doesn’t. Bodhi’s sure he’s going to - a spy would. Lying must come like breathing to Cassian Andor. But his jaw only clenches, a sharp line of pain. And the lie never comes.

“Go back to the shuttle, Bodhi,” Cassian tells him, his tone final.

 _“This is wrong. You know this is wrong,”_ Bodhi yearns to argue.

 _“You lied to me. You_ **_tricked me_** _,”_ he wants to accuse.

The second accusation of _“I trusted you,”_ flits across his mind, there and gone, and completely irrational. He has known Cassian Andor for a matter of hours. Putting his trust in a spy, even one that his saved his life, after such a short time would be stupid. He knows that.

“Don’t do this,” he finds himself pleading instead. Cassian’s shoulders grow tense. But his eyes are still trained down the scope, and he remains silent.

Bodhi heaves himself to his feet, and slowly picks his way back down the path.

He doesn’t see Cassian watching him go. And he doesn’t see the white-knuckled clench of Cassian’s hand around the blaster.

 

\--------------------2---------------------

 

Bodhi Rook climbs back into the U-Wing exactly 24 seconds after the alarms sound overhead. K-2SO does not react in hostility to the pilot’s sudden reappearance. There is no need. The human’s wild, slightly arrhythmic vital signature has the benefit of being unique, if decidedly unhealthy. Kaytoo logs the too-fast heartbeat into his memory and adds suggesting medical assistance into his future tasks.

“My attempts to contact Alliance Command succeeded too late,” he informs Bodhi in lieu of greeting. “They calculated that our mission was a failure, and have sent a strike team to destroy the base and all evidence of our presence. The U-Wing will be one of the targets. We should leave.”

Instead of leaping into action, the pilot clenches his hands around the sodden protective gear. “Your mission,” he bites out around gritted teeth. Kay registers a rise in temperature from the human, and an uptick in his heartbeat. A hardening line in his posture. Distress. Aggression.

“Yes, our mission to extract Galen Erso,” Kay explains briskly. “However, Command has concluded that in the failure of our extraction, termination is the safest option.” And then in a fit of perplexing guilt, he adds: “I’m sorry, Bodhi.”

“You’re--” Bodhi stutters, bringing a hand up to his face. “Kaytoo, Cassian is going to _kill_ Galen.”

“...Ah.” Several observations fall into place. The unusual tension in Cassian, beyond the acceptable parameters from previous missions. Even before the recovery of Bodhi Rook, his human had been distressed. “That explains a few things.”

“You didn’t know?”

“No.” It isn’t the first time that mission parameters had changed without Kay’s knowledge.

K-2SO is not equipped to _feel_ anger - certainly not in a biological sense, and not even the nuanced simulated emotion that protocol and interpersonal droids are equipped with. But his programming does allow for something emotion-adjacent. The reprogramming of his personality circuits allows for more intricacies. More than the sizzle of bloodlust or simulated adrenaline or the satisfaction of a task completed well.

And at the moment Kay is… vexed. Bothered. _Agitated._ Cassian has done the irrationally human thing again, and chosen a path that goes against his own wellbeing. For a man who frequently reminds Kay of the importance of free will, he too often sacrifices his own.

They will have to _discuss_ that.

A starfighter screams somewhere above them. Kay’s sensors identify it as a TIE. The sound has Bodhi springing into action, bolting around the cabin to scoop up fallen supplies. “N-Nevermind that. Where is everyone?”

“Jyn left not long after you and Cassian. Baze and Chirrut followed her shortly after.”

Bodhi’s head comes up, smacking into a chair as he rises. “You just let them _leave?_ ”

Kay laces as much dispassion into his vocabulator as he can muster. “I’m a security droid, Bodhi Rook. Not a babysitter.”

The U-Wing jolts around them as laser fire erupts outside, sending Bodhi sprawling and Kay’s servos fighting to remain upright. “We’ve got to go,” both of them say in tandem. This time Kaytoo joins Bodhi in gathering up their supplies. As much as the two of them can carry in one trip. The odds of there being a second trip are infinitesimal. A percentage so small that Kaytoo does not bother to complete the calculations.

TIEs and X-Wings scream above them as they vacate the shuttle, nearly invisible in the raging storm. Kay’s strides are even as blaster bolts send rocks tumbling down into the canyon. Bodhi’s are not so even. He sways under the weight of their cargo, his knees threatening to buckle. And he refuses any of Kay's offers to simply haul him up and carry the pilot to their destination. He remains shaky on his feet even as they come upon the shuttle depot and duck out of sight of the rushing pilots. Kay watches as Bodhi leans against the building they are hiding in the shadow of. Kay’s sensors strain with the ambient rainfall and the battle around them. Labored breathing. Heartbeat fast and uneven. Acute trembling and what Kaytoo can only describe as jittering. Cognition and memory issues.

He allots 15% of his focus to accessing previous mission data. Typically a much harder task, as Kay is supposed to archive all data upon mission completion. Some things, however, Kay keeps for himself.  And this - _this_ is one of them.

“Do we need to provide you with stimulants?” he asks. Bodhi’s gaze whips up, eyes tellingly unfocused. “I’m sure any of these shuttles will have them.”

“Stimulants?” the pilot balks.

“You appear to be suffering from stimulant withdrawal. It is doubtful you brought any with you into Saw Gerrera’s clutches, so you’re going on several days without them, yes? If you continue on without them, you will require medical attention. Given previous--”

“How do you know about that?” Bodhi hisses.

Kaytoo’s processes stop, and play over his calculations and procedural data. That’s right. Cassian had forbidden him from speaking to Bodhi about That Time. A stupid order, to be sure. One that Kaytoo _should_ disregard entirely.

And yet Kay finds himself perpetuating the deception. “It is well known to the Rebel Alliance that the Empire supplies its pilots with stimulants. As early as the Academy,” he clarifies. It comes out stiff, stilted and far more robotic than K-2SO has spoken in years. It is not a _lie_ necessarily.

Not… necessarily.

The Rebellion _is_ aware of the Empire’s practices with their pilots.

Bodhi’s mouth twists, but his defensive stance eases slightly. “Oh. I don’t take stims anymore. Got weaned off them.”

“Then the cause of your symptoms would be your imprisonment and torture?”

“I… I mean. Yes?” Expressive as ever, the pilot grimaces. “But I’d like to… not talk about that. Please.”

“Alright.” Kay should leave it there. But something, something dangerously close to attachment has him continuing. “You should talk to someone, though. The Rebellion has people. Cassian never admits it, but he finds it helpful when he does actually talk to them.”

Kay is not an interpersonal droid, and so even with his reprogramming he has trouble reading facial expressions that don’t translate as hostility. And so the complex cascade of emotions that come across Bodhi’s face has Kaytoo struggling to keep up. They are too intricate for him to name. Pain? Anger? Sadness? Such words are too broad for the delicate balance of emotions that humans can communicate.

Biologicals confuse him.

Instead, Kay turns to the landing pad before them. The pad is being evacuated of personnel now that the TIEs have all scrambled into battle. “We may have a chance at procuring a shuttle now,” he announces.

Bodhi shakes himself from whatever thoughts that have taken him. And now Kay can recognize the new emotion that passes over his face. Fear. Apprehension. “Wait, Kay--”

“It won’t be difficult. We are at a nearly 70% chance of success. In commandeering the shuttle, at least.”

The pilots grasps his arm, using it to haul himself up to his full height. Kay gazes down at him and internal processes stutter, the closest to a flinch that his programming allows. So few biologicals ever dare, or even think, to touch him. Cassian is the only one to do so with any measure of frequency.

The Bodhi Rook from That Time never dared to touch him either.

Strange.

Bodhi still looks afraid, but not of him. The Bodhi from Then had been. (Granted, Kaytoo had been posing as a fully functional security droid at the time.) “If we don’t get the pilot clearance codes, we’re going to be shot of the sky by those turrets. Mine will have been purged from the system by now.”

Right. High security protocols. Kay readjusts his strategy with the flawless efficiency he’s accustomed to. Yes. _This_ is much more enjoyable than being relegated to _watching the ship._ “Then we’ll just have to take them.”

“No, just… just let me handle this,” Bodhi argues. He pats K-2SO’s chestplate as he squeezes past. Another baffling, meaningless gesture. “Just trust me, okay?” The human licks his lips, which form around nervous, unspoken words for several seconds. “I know you don’t have reason to. With… with what I am.” His hand comes up to pick at the Imperial emblem on his flight suit. “But I’m _here._ We both are, right? We’re here for the same thing. So… so if you could just trust me--”

“I trust you,” Kay interrupts. Bodhi’s rambling careens to a sudden stop.

“You… you do?”

Kaytoo considers That Time; the data he has kept even when his own logic drives have calculated the action to be inadvisable.

_Imperial [Ensign Bodhi Rook] = designation (Ally)_

_Probability [Ensign Bodhi Rook] can be trusted with mission completion  [65.8%]_

_Probability [Ensign Bodhi Rook] can be trusted with Operative [Cassian Andor]’s safety  [89%]_

It sounds dangerously like sentiment.

“We’ll do it your way,” Kay says. “This time.”

Bodhi’s eyes widen a fraction, before he squares himself up. “Okay. Okay, I’ve got this. Wait here.” And Kay watches him take a deep breath, and stride out onto the landing pad.

 

\--------------------3--------------------

 

With pilots and landing personnel rushing by, it’s easy for Bodhi to step back out into the pounding rain without being noticed. He grimaces against the rain and the wind and the all-encompassing ache that has taken over him. The pain has only gotten worse since their mad dash from the canyon. Now his knees shake with every step across the landing pad. His throat burns as if he’s among Jedha’s frigid sands rather than drowning in Eadu’s storms. A passing pilot knocks into Bodhi’s arm, and it’s nearly enough to send Bodhi crashing to the ground.

 _‘No. Focus. Focus!’_ He pants and shakes his head to clear it, drawing himself up each agonizing inch at a time. His eyes dart, trying to keep his pace as he searches the faces of the scattering Imperials. These are cargo pilots and haulers, not soldiers. These are - _were_ \- Bodhi’s people. He should be able to pick out one of them.

But the seconds stretch on, and the faces smear together, gone too quickly for Bodhi to attach anything other than a vague familiarity to them.

As luck would have it, their way out finds him first. “Rook…? Rook!” Just how long his name has been called, Bodhi isn’t sure. His head swims as he turns. There’s a man in a uniform identical to Bodhi’s waving at him from under the shadow of a shuttle.  Without thinking Bodhi changes course to approach him, mind frantically searching for any scrap of memory. And there _is_ a spark in the jagged fragments there, somewhere in the man’s crooked smile, his dark eyes, and his close cropped dark hair.

There’s something… there’s a name on the tip of Bodhi’s tongue. A nickname. Something… something...

The memory flickers into focus, just as Bodhi’s mouth starts to move. “Space!” he calls, knowing he’s right when the man smiles broadly. His recollection isn’t perfect. The man’s actual name is still lost, not that it matters. No one calls him by it - even the officers seem to sometimes forget that his name _isn’t_ Space.

_Most of the time the cargo pilots aren’t allowed past Eadu’s mess hall. So it’s where they end up gathering after hauling shipments from halfway across the galaxy, from Jedha and other Imperial supply sites. They huddle around the table for a hot meal and actual social interaction whenever the opportunity presents itself._

_“Happened in the Academy, yeah?” is how Space always starts the story. By the time Bodhi defects, he’s heard it several times. “Nearly got spaced by a couple of Coruscanti twats. We were all above atmo for our enviro trainin’. And these two kriffin’ morons start throwin’ punches over besmirched honor or some shit. And your boy Space, what’s he do? The stupid thing - I try to break ‘em up. Get knocked right into the airlock for my trouble. Never did that again… I’ll let ‘em beat each other to death first.”_

Bodhi falters to a stop, but Space is closing the distance fast. He doesn’t have time to turn the other way before the pilot is upon him, slinging an arm around the back of his shoulders. He’s shorter than Bodhi by more than a few inches, but the man leans up without even thinking about it. “Rook, bruv, where’ve you been?” he says quickly. Even the friendly greeting is tainted by fear. A shriek somewhere in the sky, and Space flinches. He starts off again across the landing pad, his voice pitching low. “Your shuttle was due back days ago. No you, no ship, officers won’t tell us nothin’. Thought you were dead, mate.”

 _‘I might still be,’_ Bodhi thinks. He does his best to subtly change their course, away from the main entrance to the base, and towards the building Kaytoo is still lurking behind. It seems to work, because Space doesn’t seem to notice and only continues:

“...this thing with Jedha? There’s rumors goin’ round. Somethin’ bad happened out there. Can’t bring up Trinna on th’ comms. She was there. Same route as you, yeah? And then these Rebels showin’ up? S’bad. Had to be them, innit?” There’s real concern in his face, not just for Bodhi, or their fellow pilot that Bodhi had completely forgotten, or for the Rebels-- but for Jedha.

Bodhi has made a horrible mistake. He’s chosen the wrong person for this. He’s not sure if it’s the guilt or the pain catching up with him, but it makes him stumble. Space’s arm around his back tightens, his expression pinching in worry. “Rook?” And then it falls, a terrible realization coming into his eyes. And Bodhi knows he’s been caught, even before he can fabricate a lie.

There’s a moment of silence where Bodhi expects… many things. To be attacked, or accused, or for Space to start shouting for the officers. Their hurried pace towards safety slows.

“It wasn’t the Rebels on Jedha,” Bodhi begins, his voice nothing but a painful rasp. He doesn’t explain further, but then, his implication is clear.

Space glances at the still open doors to the facility, where many of their comrades (no, just Space’s comrades now) are hurrying inside to shelter. And then, he nods to himself, and takes a little more of Bodhi’s weight. “This way, right?” he says, his voice grim. Determined.

All at once, Bodhi wants to _weep_ and curse himself. And curse Saw Gerrera and Galen and Bor Gullet. For making him forget. For leading him to put Space through this.

_‘I should have chosen someone else.’_

The final seconds before they round the line of the building are filled with his frantic thoughts. Would Space just give him the codes if he asked? No, _no_ that would be as good as signing Space’s execution order. Could they make it look like he put up a fight? Possibly. But leaving him unhurt would just send the Loyalty Officers his way. And no amount of subterfuge could save him from _those_ monsters.

Space’s gaze is quietly knowing, but he doesn’t falter.

“Kay,” Bodhi calls as they near. “Don’t hurt him.”

A flash of black metal in the rain is the briefest of warnings. It catches Space across the cheek, a cut off grunt of pain the only sound leaving him. It’s all he has time for. The force of the blow rips him away from Bodhi, sending him crashing into the wall. He drops like a sack of heavy stones.

“Kay!” Bodhi exclaims.

“There will be no severe or lasting damage,” Kay replies innocently. Even without facial expressions, the droid makes a masterful show of it. “Just a fractured cheekbone. A minor concussion. Nothing that can’t be fixed.”

Bodhi glares at him. “He’s a noncombatant!” He sighs, irritated and aching. And now _guilty._ He kneels next to the fallen pilot, murmuring a “Sorry” that falls on unconscious ears as he unzips Space’s flight suit and rifles around his pockets for the datachip they need.

“Congratulations,” Kay announces when he rises back to his feet. “You’re a Rebel now.”

Funny. Bodhi doesn’t feel at all proud of that right now.

“Let’s just get out of here.”

 

\-----------------------------------------

**END CHAPTER 2.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Bodhi had considered the flight to Eadu painful, then the flight from it is nothing short of excruciating. It’s been nearly an hour since the mad escape and the ensuing explosive argument down in the hold, and Bodhi swears he can still hear the echo of Jyn and Cassian’s shouts still pinging around their stolen cargo shuttle.
> 
> Now, no one speaks. None of them, seemingly, knows what to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a year of being distracted by other projects, this fic finally gets an update!!!! What?! Please enjoy (or cry over) this little scene with the aftermath of Eadu. Featuring totally married Baze and Chirrut, and Jyn and Bodhi striking up an unexpected friendship.
> 
> Also: crying. A lot of crying.

 

\--------------------1---------------------

If Bodhi had considered the flight to Eadu painful, then the flight from it is nothing short of excruciating. It’s been nearly an hour since the mad escape and the ensuing explosive argument down in the hold, and Bodhi swears he can still hear the echo of Jyn and Cassian’s shouts still pinging around their stolen cargo shuttle.

Now, no one speaks. None of them, seemingly, knows what to say.

Galen is dead, by Rebel Alliance bombs rather than Cassian’s blaster. The Eadu base is a smoldering wreck left behind. The X-Wings are long gone into hyperspace, without even a glance back.

(Had Space survived the attack? He and Kay had stowed the pilot safely away from the line of fire, but is that guaranteed with starfighters seeking to destroy everything? Had they only sentenced the man to death by proton blast?)

The Alliance had never intended to bring Galen back alive. It’s a thought that keeps playing over in Bodhi’s head. He feels… numb to it. Bodhi understands, in a detached way. Their decision was cold and calculated. Galen symbolized a threat that the Rebellion couldn’t risk leaving alive. What’s the life of one man for the lives of billions?

But the Death Star has already been completed and Galen’s death rendered… meaningless. It’s the final hammer blow at the end of this hellish - day? _Week?_

Galen died for nothing other than what he represented. Neither seeing the justice he believed he deserved or redemption he hoped for.

The Rebel Alliance hadn’t cared about Galen’s message, or that Bodhi had risked it all to bring it to them. Or that Jyn had risked everything for the chance to bring it and Galen back. Or that Chirrut and Baze had been ripped from everything they’d fought for. Or that Jedha was now just ash and fire and emptiness. Or that they had sent a good man to be a killer.

All they’d done was pull a trigger, finding the quickest solution.

And Bodhi can’t even find the strength to hate them for it.

He’s elected to stay in the shuttle’s tiny seating cabin with Jyn, this time only slightly put off by her frigid silence. Her sharp gaze keeps flickering from the wall to the back of the pilot’s chair where Cassian is currently seated. If looks could kill, the man would doubtlessly have died several times over by now, completely obliterated and his atoms scattered across hyperspace. Bodhi has never considered himself a fighter - he’d only ever had a basic competency in the Academy self defense courses - but he figures that if Jyn tries to attack Cassian, he’ll at least be able to slow her down.

For a few seconds.

Hopefully.

There’d be less chance of violence if Chirrut and Baze would get back. The two of them have disappeared into the tiny sleeper cabin at the promise of a refresher and a utility compartment. None of them had batted an eye when Chirrut had risen to his feet and nearly hauled Baze to his, one hand clenched in the larger man’s soaking flight suit.

How the two of them are going to fit in the cabin’s tiny refresher is another question entirely. The luxury of having a sonic shower comes with the sacrifice of space. Bodhi remembers the refresher on his own cargo shuttle barely having enough room for one.

He counts the seconds. Counts the panels of the bulkheads and the bolts because it keeps him from drifting, from dwelling. He mentally recites the Chant, focusing on each line that Chirrut had taught him. Or retaught him.

Bodhi shuts his eyes, and thinks, _‘I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me.’_ And he breathes. And he waits.

By the time, Chirrut and Baze return from the cabin, Bodhi is desperate for a distraction from the threat of his own thoughts. Which is why he doesn’t feel guilty for watching the Guardians sink back into their seats and begin to diligently clean their armor. Despite the fact that their clothes are now dry and the Eadu mud and Jedhan dust has been washed away, neither of them appear in any way rested. Chirrut has taken off the thick arm guard, and his posture has slumped from the focused (battle ready) line that he’s been holding since Jedha. Baze has taken off all of his armor, without the bulky chestplate, pauldrons, and gauntlets for the first time since Bodhi has met the man. His heavy generator and repeating blaster sit on the floor near them within easy reach. They sit side-by-side, and they seem… smaller. For the first time since meeting them, the Guardians appear human. Fallible. And above all else, exhausted.

Bodhi sits up a little straighter in his cramped seat. The empathetic offers of commiseration that spring to his lips are meaningless. There’s nothing he can say to equal the depths of their loss, no apology he can make. And so the silence goes unbroken, leaving Bodhi to simply observe them.

After several moments of watching them, his eyes fall to the mark on the back of Chirrut’s hand, laid bare now that the gauntlet is off. The black concentric circles around the stylized blossom jog a memory. Bodhi’s mouth parts, his eyes darting to Baze’s busy hands - to the matching tattoo on the back of his left hand.

“Oh!” he croaks, the sound seeming deafening in the quiet. Bodhi clears his throat, finding more than one pair of eyes has been trained on him. “How um, how long have the two of you been married?” he asks.

Baze only falters for an instant, gaze flicking up at Bodhi and then back down at the pauldron he’s cleaning. Chirrut, however, stops with a slow smile. “Hm,” he murmurs, “how long has it been again?”

Beside him, Baze lets out a particularly dispassionate grunt. But, if Bodhi is not mistaken, his mouth twitches up at the corner.

Bodhi frowns. “You don’t remember?”

“He does,” Baze rumbles without looking up from his armor. He doesn’t acknowledge the sharpening of Chirrut’s smile as he explains: “He just wants to hear me say it.” Chirrut shifts closer to his - his _husband,_ tilting his head expectantly. Baze sighs. “It will be thirty-four years in… three weeks.” The gunner knocks a knee into Chirrut’s. “Does that please you, _menace?_ ” And this time there’s an entirely different note in his voice. Almost playful.

“Immensely.”

From across the cabin, Jyn lets out a snort of laughter. “That explains so much.”

The creaking of a chair from the cockpit has Bodhi turning. Cassian has stood up, quietly regarding them all. That same pinch to the man’s mouth that he had seen before, trying so hard to contain the storm that’s lurking just beneath the surface, has Bodhi looking away just as quickly. The surge of emotion through him in that one glance is too much for him. It is not anger or resentment, not quite as benign as misery. But it _hurts_ all the same - worse than any injury Bodhi has. It is betrayal, and everything that comes with it.

_‘Cassian never pulled the trigger,’_ he reminds himself. But then again, Cassian didn’t have to in the end, did he?

“I thought your belief was to not form attachments,” Jyn is saying, unaware that her quarry has moved.

“That’s Jedi. We are Guardians,” Chirrut replies.

“ _You_ are a Guardian,” Baze counters under his breath. It goes ignored.

“There were rules, but fraternization between Guardians or Disciples was not forbidden.” Chirrut rubs a thumb over the mark on the back of his right hand. The movement accentuates the artificial ridge just under the inked lines - a modification that isn’t standard on Jedha. There’s no missing the softening around the monk’s eyes as his fingers trace the mark. And no missing the way Baze finally stops cleaning his armor, and watches. The moment passes before anyone can think, or dare, to call attention to it. Chirrut grins. “Though I think the Temple Masters wrote several new rules because of us.”

The air in the shuttle relaxes, just marginally, for the first time since leaving Eadu. The permeating ice that’s been gathering around Jyn Erso eases in an instant of humor. She doesn’t smile, not exactly. But there’s a curious twist to her mouth - a light in her eyes.

And then Bodhi watches her eyes flit towards the front of the cabin, and light immediately snuff out upon seeing Cassian Andor standing there.

Bodhi tenses, casting desperate looks at Baze and Chirrut. Should they be ready for another fight? Should they be ready for Jyn to spring into an attack?

Neither happens. Cassian holds Jyn’s flinty stare for several (nerve-wracking) breaths, before shifting his gaze over each of them. “It’ll be more than a few hours until we reach Yavin,” he announces. “If you want to get cleaned up or rest, you have time.”

Jyn’s venomous retort never comes, but Bodhi can _feel_ it in the hunch of her shoulders, the painful clench of her jaw. “We can take turns!” Bodhi interjects before she can begin. “Getting cleaned up, I mean. You can have the bed, Jyn. I don’t need it.”

At the very least, it derails her. The pent up fury rolling off Jyn falters. “What?” she asks sharply. Bodhi doesn’t hold it against her. “No. I’m not sleeping.”

Bodhi hears _I can’t sleep after this_ and… well, he can’t hold that against her either.

\--------------------2---------------------

Bodhi is warm, and his body is heavy. It’s not entirely comfortable - he’s slumped over, the muscles in his back pulled tight. His shoulders ache from being wedged into the same position for too long. His head throbs dully, his skull feeling like it’s been stuffed with wool. And yet it’s the most comfortable Bodhi has been in days. Or maybe even longer? Everything is still so muddled…

_“You shouldn’t fall asleep like that. You’re going to be so sore. Bodhi… Bodhi, come on.”_

The echo is there and gone, a splinter of a dream long passed. Bodhi frowns, and blinks his heavy eyes open. His world comes into focus slowly, first in the familiar ambient hum of the shuttle’s engines, and then the smell of recycled air.

He’s slumped over the shuttle’s comm station, which someone had the forethought to turn off. And he’s still warm.

Bodhi lifts his head just a fraction, bleary eyes regarding the furred collar draped around his shoulders. He stares at it, brows knitting together, tracing the collar down to the now familiar blue sleeves. Everything that’s happened doesn’t jolt back to him so much as it does bubble to the surface. Jedha. Eadu. Galen. Cassian _._ Jyn, who they’d finally convinced to take the sleeper cabin with the promise that one of them would wake her in an hour to take her place. Except, from the look of Baze and Chirrut slouched across the bench out in the passenger cabin, none of them had. Bodhi himself had stripped off his ruined flight jacket, leaving him his standard issue undershirt, and promptly passed out sitting at the comm station.

He wonders just how long he’s been sleeping under Cassian’s parka. And who draped it over him. (It could have been someone else, Bodhi tells himself. It would be easier if it were someone else. He wouldn’t have to feel conflicted if it were Baze or Chirrut picking up Cassian’s coat and draping it over him.)

Still, it _is_ warm. And no one is there to call him out on it if he tucks his nose into the furred collar for a few extra seconds.

“I was unable to put a communication through to General Draven,” Kay’s voice cuts through his swirling thoughts. “I asked them to call the strike squadron off, but it was too late. I’m sorry, Cassian.”

“Kay--”

Bodhi freezes. The raw anguish he hears in the other man’s voice, even hushed, is not something he’s prepared for. He tips his head in increments towards the cockpit, but can only see the backs of the pilot’s seats. Only the slightest hint of Cassian’s profile as he turns to Kay.

“It’s my fault that Galen Erso has died,” Kaytoo persists.

“Kay, no, that’s…”

“If Jyn would like to fight me on this, I will gladly invite her to. And I will win. We’ve seen this - I’ve far superior strength and reach.”

Cassian shifts in his chair, swinging his legs into the space between the pilot and copilot’s seat. Bodhi can just barely catch a glimpse of his stricken face in the light from the console. “It is _not_ your fault, Kay. I…” The spy trails off abruptly, sounding like the voice has been choked out of him. “It was my mission. My orders.”

“Orders that you disobeyed--”

“For all the _good_ that did!” Cassian hisses. Bodhi quickly shuts his eyes as the man glances back to see if he’s alerted anyone, and keeps them shut. “The mission was never an extraction, Kay. Draven’s orders were always to terminate Erso.”

“I know.”

“You-- you do?”

“Yes. _Bodhi_ informed me when he returned from the ridge.” Kay’s accusation is subtle, as subtle as anything seems to _be_ with K-2SO anyway, but it drops between them like a stone.

“I’m sorry, Kay,” Cassian says, his voice a quiet, wounded thing.

“I’m not angry at you for that, Cassian. I’m angry that you’ve done this to yourself. Again.”

Bodhi dares to peek through his lashes, and his breath catches. Cassian is still in the same position as he was before, his legs thrown sideways out of the chair to speak with the droid. But now he has slumped. His elbows rest upon his knees, his hands buried in his hair - the epitome of misery and grief. Bodhi can’t see his face anymore, but the brittle line of his shoulders and shape of his fingers clenched in his hair paints a picture well enough.

Cassian doesn’t shake. Doesn’t sob. There may not even be any tears at all. But his very posture, the waves of abject anguish coming off him - Cassian Andor is weeping in one way or another.

Kaytoo’s head turns, quiet and observant. “Cassian,” he intones softly. The droid reaches out, placing a hand on the man’s shoulder with more hesitancy than Bodhi has ever seen from him. And then Cassian _does_ shake. The barest tremble along his shoulders has panic rising in Bodhi’s chest.

He’s intruding. He shouldn’t be witnessing this. He has the distinct impression that Cassian would _hate_ for anyone to see this.

Bodhi tucks the parka tighter to him. He slips away from the comm station as quietly as he can, afraid that even the slightest rustle of his clothing will give him away. He keeps his head low and ducks into the passenger cabin.

It’s just as quiet in here as the cockpit was. Even with the white noise of the engines, there’s an air of peace. Baze and Chirrut are slumped in their seats, doubtlessly as uncomfortable as Bodhi was slouched over the communications console. But Bodhi loathes to wake them. They’ve fallen asleep sitting side-by-side, their bodies turned just slightly towards each other. It’s just the smallest thing, and yet there’s something incredibly intimate about the peace between them, the simple comfort and ease in their proximity.

Bodhi’s intruding here, as well. It doesn’t leave him with many options. He thinks to duck down into the hold, to wait out the rest of the ride. Instead the pilot finds himself wandering deeper into the shuttle, slipping through the door dividing the sleeper cabin and engine compartment off from the rest of the ship. The tiny hall is nearly pitch black but for the dim lights near the floor, but it’s oddly comforting. Familiar to him.

The door to the bunk is open, and the cramped room empty and dark. Jyn is nowhere to be seen. Bodhi hesitates in the doorway, tongue nervously flicking out to wet his chapped lips. Should he go looking for her?

A soft _thump_ from the direction of the engine compartment draws his attention away. It’s the sound of something knocking against the wall - which would _not_ be a good sound. Unless… someone was in the room.

Bodhi waffles indecisively for several seconds. And finds himself shuffling over and rapping his knuckles against the metal. “Jyn?”

A thick silence greets him, both he and the occupant of the engine room seeming to hold their breath. “I’m here,” comes a voice at last. Bodhi slips carefully inside.

The only light in the room is the utility lamp near the engine. It casts the room in heavy shadows. Jyn sits curled near the door, her back to the wall. Her face is thrown into shadow, but Bodhi can feel her eyes on him, with a barely constrained fire that would terrify most. It terrifies _Bodhi_ until he realizes she’s staring at the coat still draped over Bodhi’s shoulders. Cassian’s coat.

Shit. His face warms in embarrassment. Should he take it off? Should he try to explain? _Is_ there anything to explain? His head hurts too much for this. His nervous thoughts stutter to a halt as Jyn shifts, and the light catches her face; catches the shine on her cheeks.

She’s been crying.

“I-I’m… I’ll leave you alone, if you want,” Bodhi offers. “I didn’t mean to… are you...?” He almost asks if she’s alright, which would perhaps be the stupidest thing Bodhi has ever said. Instead he falls silent, and feels even more like an unwanted presence. Surely she would want him here for this even less than Cassian would want him in the cockpit right now.

But Jyn surprises him, sniffling only slightly as she peers up at him. “Did you know my father well?”

Bodhi fidgets with the sleeves of the parka. “I don’t know if I’d say I knew him well. He was… a private person. He didn’t really trust anyone. Not that I blame him. You don’t trust people in the Empire. Not even your friends.”

“But he trusted you with his message.”

She pats the space beside her, and Bodhi gratefully sinks down to the floor, wincing has his body protests the entire way down. “He did, but that’s not…”

_“I would trust no one else.”_

A lump forms in Bodhi’s throat. “Sometimes I think he trusted that I _trusted him_ more than anything else,” he admits, to himself as much as to Jyn. It’s the first time he’s been brave enough to say it out loud.

Jyn says nothing, watching him in wordless expectation, but she doesn’t push. She’s gracious enough to give him the time to order his thoughts - that’s been so _difficult_ since Jedha. Galen, at least, is still clear in his memory. “I was addicted to stims, y’know?” he begins suddenly, apropos of nothing. Jyn looks at him a bit strangely, but continues to wait as he gestures. “All the Imperial cargo pilots are, basically. Nonstop shipments, flying into war zones. We’re not soldiers. They pump us full of stims and just… send us back out. Galen found me, once, so stim’d up that I was having a panic attack in a supply closet. He could’ve sent me to the medbay. But if they decided I wasn’t fit for duty anymore…”

He doesn’t describe how the Empire would have disposed of a, now useless, low-level pilot working at their high security base. Nor does he want to think about it. Jyn seems to think along the same line, her eyes darkening. “So he helped me off them, instead,” Bodhi continues, tipping his aching head back against the wall. “He started slipping me diluted stims whenever I was on base until I could wean off them. Put himself at risk for me.”

At this, Jyn suddenly frowns at him in the gloom. “You owed him.”

“I did.”

“And you think he used that.”

There’s a cold edge in her voice, not quite accusing, but Bodhi still winces. “Maybe not in… in so many words. He didn’t _use_ my trust, he just depended on it? I don’t know. I told him things that I never told anyone. About Jedha. About how much I hated the Empire for what they did to it. About how much of a coward I am for going to them in the first place. I never trusted anyone else with that.”

The words don’t sound right as they leave his mouth.

_“You don’t know what it’s like - living under the Empire’s boot. They play nice with the Core Worlds. But on Jedha? You made yourself useful or they made sure that you would **rot** \- either in a cell or on the street. And I couldn’t-- I couldn’t let that happen to--”_

_It’s not Galen sitting across from him._

Bodhi squeezes his eyes shut, the throbbing in his skull making it hard to breathe for a moment.

“You’re not a coward, Bodhi.” Jyn’s soft words break him out of his haze. She’s using the same tone that she had on their way to Eadu, the determination and light shining through. It hard _not_ to believe her when she uses it. But this…

“‘Course I am,” he grunts. “The only thing I’ve ever done is run. Ran to the Empire. Ran away from it. I’ve never been brave enough to do anything else.”

The touch at his arm startles him. The contact must feel as foreign to Jyn as it does to Bodhi, because at his flinch her hand snaps back, too quickly to be covered up as intentional. It’s the first time he’s seen Jyn touch anyone. “Sometimes running is the bravest thing you can do,” she tells him.

“I don’t feel very brave. Maybe I’m doing it wrong.”

That gets something like a smile out of her, so quick and gone that he almost misses it in the dark. He wonders how long it’s been since she smiled. Since she’s touched anyone other than in self-defense or attack.

After a stretch of silence, Jyn finds her words again. “Sometimes… seeing things going bad and just turning a blind eye to it is far more cowardly than running.” There’s a haunted note in her voice, and Bodhi turns to better look at her. “Saw Gerrera was like a father to me.” And Bodhi must flinch violently, because her hand goes back to his arm. “I know he hurt you. I’m not going to apologize for him. When I was young, after I thought Galen… abandoned me-- us, I almost thought as Saw as the one who raised me. I’d like to say he didn’t start out that way, doing the those things, but… sometimes I just wonder if he just hid the things he’d done from me. But I saw it, as I got older, as I started trying to join his cause. And even though I could see everything that was wrong, I never ran. I always rationalized it. It took him dropping me somewhere with a blaster and a hope for me to finally walk away. I was never _brave enough_ to walk away.”

She holds his gaze in a way that’s meaningful and shockingly understanding, and it makes Bodhi want to squirm away into the darkest corner of the room, away from the broken, spineless parts of himself that pains him to look at. He wants to argue that Jyn is one of the bravest, perhaps craziest, people he’s ever met - climbing up the cliffside into a highly secured Imperial base with nothing but her wits and a blaster. But by the look in her eye, that compliment won’t be accepted at the moment.

Instead he sinks further against the wall, his smile brittle. “Maybe… we can both find a way to be brave. Make sure that Galen’s plans get to the Rebellion?”

Her eyes gleam in the dark. “We’re going to turn that station of theirs into space dust,” she promises, sounding more like herself.

“For Galen.”

“For Jedha,” Jyn adds. The fierceness in her tone only makes his heart twist even more. Bodhi’s throat closes tight, thinking briefly of wind and ash, and a city of memories that are still fragmented and half out of reach.

“Yeah, for Jedha.”

\--------------------3---------------------

By the time Bodhi makes his way back towards the cockpit, his head a little less fuzzy and his heart the tiniest of margins lighter. Jyn follows him up, brushing a hand against his elbow for a brief, mind-boggling moment before parting ways with him in the passenger cabin. She moves in the direction of Baze and Chirrut’s sleeping forms, leaving Bodhi to hesitate awkwardly near the threshold to the cockpit.

His decision (or lack thereof) is made for him, when Kay slides past him with a faint sound of grinding joints.

(Dust in his servos, Bodhi diagnoses without thought. Jedha ash and Eadu rainwater. He’ll need a thorough cleaning after all of this.)

Kaytoo tilts his head in Bodhi’s direction, his blank face betraying nothing even as Bodhi stands there with Cassian’s coat still draped around him. He gets the distinct feeling he’s being judged. “It’s your turn to copilot.”

“ _Me?_ ” he yelps, and then quickly lowers his voice. It’s unneeded, as the rumble of Baze’s voice is coming from the cabin behind him, interspersed with Chirrut’s soft laugh and Jyn’s insistent tone. Bodhi swallows thickly. “No, Kay, he doesn’t want me up there--”

He gives himself away too easily, much to his humiliation. But whether Kay is aware that Bodhi had been eavesdropping on them or not, he doesn’t make any mention of it. “He does want you with him.” Bodhi’s breath catches in his chest for an instant, but Kay continues: “As the only one on this shuttle who is qualified to pilot it, you’re needed.”

“I… alright. Yeah. Thanks, Kaytoo.”

“You’re welcome. I leave him in your hands until I’m through with my maintenance.” The droid lopes off into the cabin, leaving Bodhi to only watch for a few moments - taking in the scene of Jyn shooing Baze and Chirrut towards the bunk, and Kay joining the fray.

He wonders, incredulously, how he managed to walk right into this trap.

The Cassian he finds in the cockpit is not the same one he left behind. No longer hunched defeatedly in his seat, the Rebel spy has drawn himself back up. Bodhi catches glimpses of his face as he adjusts the controls - pale and drawn in the fluctuating light of hyperspace. There’s no evidence of tears, though the misery coming off him in waves has not changed.

He freezes as Bodhi steps up to the pilot’s seat, and Bodhi doesn’t dare look at his face as he settles in. He self consciously adjusts Cassian’s coat around his shoulders, looking over the readouts instead. For several moments, the cockpit is dreadfully silent. And Bodhi has no idea where to start. What question to ask, or what even to say after their last tense one-on-one at Eadu’s summit.

“Thank you...” Bodhi says at length, gesturing to the coat.

Is he imagining it, or does a little bit of color come back into Cassian’s face? “Don’t mention it.” Cassian returns to the controls, his concentration unnecessary with the course already set in the navicomputer. Bodhi lets himself gaze awhile longer, taking in his tense profile in the light of hyperspace. The anguish on his face is somehow familiar - something Bodhi knows intimately from his own reflection.

_“I’ve been in this fight since I was six years old…”_ Cassian had said.

Bodhi opens his mouth to speak, to undoubtedly ask something stupid and inadvisable, but is cut off.

“I’m sorry.”

Bodhi startles, fingers tripping over the readouts. “What?” An apology is truthfully the last thing he expected to hear from Cassian. Although… between apologizing to him and apologizing to Jyn, Bodhi knows which of the two is more likely to result in Cassian’s untimely _murder_. “You don’t need to apologize to me,” he sighs.

Cassian’s jaw clenches. “No, I do. For… a lot of things. For lying to you. For...”

“Mission parameters. I get it. You really--”

“Bodhi…”

Bodhi shrugs, trying to put as much finality into his voice as possible. “It’s fine. You don’t need to explain it to me. You… thought you were doing the right thing.”

And Cassian scoffs in disgust, a self-loathing sound that seems to burst out of him and somehow stick between Bodhi’s ribs. “The right thing… no. It was never the _right_ thing.”

“You were doing it for the Rebellion,” Bodhi reasons, unsure why exactly he feels the need to. The bitterness in Cassian’s voice unnerves him, just as listening to his passion become something beaten and tired did hours ago.

Cassian smiles humorlessly. “I’ve done a lot of things for the Rebellion, Bodhi. Too many of them were the wrong thing, even for the right cause.” He shakes his head, averting his eyes from Bodhi out through the viewport.

Bodhi falters with what to say to that, or even if he _should_ have anything to say to that. What could he possibly say to comfort a man who has seen and done so much, when Bodhi himself has only known how to run?

“ _‘If you’re brave enough, and listen to what’s in your heart, you can make it right,’_ ” he says quietly, with a melancholy smile when Cassian glances back over at him. “That’s what Galen told me, that made me want to do the right thing. That made me want to _try._ You’re a brave man, Cassian. You can do the right thing.”

It takes a moment of silence for Bodhi to become aware of Cassian’s heavy gaze. Cassian’s expression is almost unreadable, a tumultuous mix of emotions, a mask laid bare for the second time that night. But it’s directed at _him_ this time, and Bodhi finds himself unquestionably shaken by it. And under it all there’s the faintest glimmer of something like _hope_ in Cassian’s eyes.

Cassian gathers himself after a few seconds, clearing this throat as he turns back to the console. Bodhi thinks their conversation is going to be left at that, but after a stretch of silence, Cassian speaks up again.

“Bodhi,” he says, “you’re a brave man, too.”

**END CHAPTER 3.**


End file.
